Redder Than The Rose
by Haven35
Summary: A familiar premise with a twist. Grell loiters outside the Phantomhive mansion, waiting to attract the attention of a very certain butler. Written around a color saturation theme.


_"Red like blood.  
>White like bone.<br>Red like solitude.  
>White like silence.<br>Red like the senses of a beast.  
>White like the heart of a god.<br>Red like molten hatred.  
>White like chilling cries of pain.<br>Red like the shadows that feed on the night.  
>Like a sigh piercing the moon<br>It shines white, and scatters red."_

It's nearing midnight and I shouldn't be here. Really, I shouldn't be anywhere, but the moon is full and bright, painting the world in broad strokes and harsh contrasts, hiding most, revealing only what she chooses to, like a high-priced harlot freshly coifed for the evening. Her voice sings in my veins, a whispering murmur as her radiance bleaches the vivid color from my coat, turning it a silvery pink that I admire against my shimmering, argentine skin. The marble beneath me is cool and smooth, like the skin of the man my mind wanders to, the man separated from me only by panes of glass and fabric. I sit outside his master's window, tempting fate, hoping he'll find me, fearing that discovery.

Within the darkened bedchamber, I hear his little master stir, hear the child in the throes of a nightmare, and I can't resist the smile that spreads my lips back from delicately pointed teeth. Tiny Ciel Phantomhive's dreams can hardly be happy, and I arch back, my perch turning precarious as I watch his soft hair, painted in ashen tones by the night, fan around his head as he tosses and turns through a small gap in the curtains. Shame, Sebas-chan, letting your precious charge sleep in the light of the full moon. The child's already half-mad as it is. Madame Red would hardly approve of this.

Ah, my beloved Red, beautiful, vicious, carmine and ivory woman, the only woman I have ever loved. I stroke slender, tapered fingers over the soft lamb's wool lapel of her coat and allow myself to remember that glorious night, pulse quickening to sing in time with the moon's melody as I think of the fight, the passion, the sorrow of that night, and the strange, echoing reverberation that this lovely butler has struck in me. Longing knifes through me, leaving me gasping as my hands remember caressing his flesh, my scythe biting deep into that soft, breakable body, the alleyway and every inch of him painted in my own beloved red.

Behind me, the metallic thud of the catch coming loose and the leaden garden doors opening shakes me from my reverie, bringing me around to gaze into irises the dark red of blood fresh from the vein as Sebas-chan regards me with an air of irritated disdain, as though I were some stray dog come to wander up and sniff the bushes. He shuts the panes behind him, the vaulting, leaden glass creating a quicksilver backdrop that displays his ice-cold form to perfection. That…dear me, that will never do. I feel my lower lip slide out into a sensuous pout and gaze up at that perfect marble countenance through my lashes, every inch the ingénue. "Oh Sebas-chan," I breathe, voice soft and breathy, "keep glaring at me like that and I'll begin to think you don't like me anymore."

"Grell," he begins, voice flat and with nothing in the way of inflection, "what on earth are you doing here?"

And there is only one answer to that question. "Why, hoping against hope you would eventually notice this poor, helpless creature and take pity on her." I let my lashes fall, feel a blush creep over my cheeks, and trace tiny, meaningless patterns on the railing beside me, stark white glove against stark white marble, hard, crisp-edged shadow in between.

A soft, almost resigned exhale is the only warning I'm given before those talented, glove-encased fingers snap out to tangle in ruby hair turned almost black in the moonlight and I'm dragged to a shivering heap on the cold stone of the balcony, gazing up at this wicked devil of a butler through a tumble of scarlet bangs and black shadows, his hands harsh as they twist in the red, my hair becoming chains he tightens to drag me to my knees at his feet. My chest constricts and my breath races, fogging the air between us as I bring my hands up, bracing them on his thighs to steady myself, snowy gloves against midnight slacks before his free hand paints hot red pain across my cheek, my head snapping back with the force of the slap. "Let's try this again, Grell." He sounds almost bored, his muscles loose and easy, while mine scream and my heart races with shame and desire. Tears burn behind my eyes, my glasses slightly askew so that he drifts in and out of focus before the world blurs silver and I can no longer breathe.

I will not answer him. Instead, I trace kidskin-encased palms down his thighs, admiring the strength of those muscles, the subtle shift of tendon and bone and wonder how it would feel to sink my nails in deep, part the tissue like ribbons to carve deep into rich ivory and kiss those lips that twist as my hands travel back up, tracing the bottom edge of his vest, admiring the gray against the black of his tailcoat, wanting to grasp the garment and rend it, exposing glowing skin to the kiss of the pale moonlight above. It isn't until terrifyingly gentle fingers press to my lips that I realize I've been whispering exactly what I've been thinking, my jaw pressed hard to his hip as his fingers tighten and loosen rhythmically in the crimson fall of my hair.

Suddenly harsh, those fingers dig deep into the tender skin beneath my jaw, hauling me unceremoniously to my feet, heels skidding on slick marble as my shaking legs fight to support me. His hands remain hard as steel as I gain my balance, battling to hold onto the tattered shreds of my dignity. Eyes as remote as the moon's unforgiving face above and rich as the most flawless garnet lock with mine, and I feel another chill cut through me, shivering in his hands as he uses the one under my jaw to shove me against the railing of the balcony, stone striking my back hard enough to knock the wind out of me and send silver shocks up and down my spine that have only partly to do with pain. Carmine lips parting to flash pearly, serrated teeth, I offer him a devil's grin and feel the slow, tickling glide of blood from a nick in my lip spill down my chin. My jaw comes up, the pain cutting hard in blue-black streaks down my throat and through my neck as I lean back against the rail, hands spread, bright red coat flaring to wonderful advantage that frames my white and brown-clad body to perfection, hair mussed and tossed by the wind, glasses barely keeping purchase at the end of my nose. I make a wanton, slatternly spectacle of myself, one perilously high heel hooked up so that my knee can fall to the side in silent invitation. Every line in Sebastian's body screams of need, the need for a fight, for my submission, my pain. He wants, so badly, to paint my skin scarlet and carve himself deep into my body and that is a fight I have no desire to win.

"Do you really think," I purr, voice soft as velvet-coated steel, "that this is the proper place for all this?" Tilting my chin toward the little Ciel's window, I let the smile I wear turn cruel, heartless, and heated as the unflappable butler before me falters for just a moment, uncertainty in his eyes before his hand snaps out to grasp my tie, pulling our faces close enough to kiss, close enough for me to smell the chocolate and polish on his clothes. Without a word, he drags me forward, his free hand at the small of my back and so genuinely courteous I could be a young lady he was helping into a chair.

He never has to glance behind him to guide me through the doors and into his young master's bedroom, past the massive canopied bed. The threat is unspoken but very present; if I make a sound, things will go badly for me. Before we step through the doorway and into the hall, however, I find myself pressed against the post of Ciel's bed, Sebastian's knee between my thighs to grind hard against fragile flesh as he presses a devouring kiss against my lips, heedless of my teeth, the suddenness and the harshness loosening my jaw before I realize what he's doing. In his hands, I am not some delicate doll or licentious hoyden. I am something that is already broken, something he has shattered, and will break again. Tenderness and violence war in this man's arms and pain and pleasure dance in ruby ribbons behind my eyes. My knees buckle, and he catches me by the upper arms, fingers digging deep and drawing the softest, highest moan from me.

That tiny sound wrenches him away from me, a thick black fringe of bangs tumbling into enraged carmine eyes as he spins us both to march me out of the room, twisting both my wrists hard enough behind my back to force a soft hiss through my teeth, a noise I expect to pay for all too soon.

We spill out into the hallway, and once the door is shut behind him, Sebastian tumbles me to the floor, my backside striking the polished marble seconds before my shoulders follow, and my vision streams white and black as my head cracks against the stone. Before I can recover, those hands haul me up again, and I find myself guided to a small, serviceable room furnished spartanly, a servant's room, painted in broad strokes of chiaroscuro, the creamy moon the only source of light. I feel my heels tangle and my feet go out from under me, my hair flowing forward to paint the black coverlet in brilliant scarlet as I hear a match strike and the sharp tang of sulfur reaches my nose.

By the soft orange light of a single candle, I watch Sebastian strip his gloves free, folding them neatly to hide the stain my blood had left on the fabric and shrug out of his swallowtail coat, revealing more of the snowy shirt crossed by pitch black sleeve garters much like my own. I have only a moment to admire that cruel study of contrasts before he flips me over, wraps his hands in my coat, _her_ coat, and strips me of it, the rich red fabric falling to the floor to pool at the edge of the bed. Shock and anger course through me in bitter shades of gray, and I buck under his hands, struggling until another slap spins the world around me.

When I come to my senses, I lie on my back, hair spread out around me in a carmine nimbus that pours over the edges of the bed, the butler straddling my waist as he removes my glasses with a tenderness that sends terrified tremors through me, muscles seizing as those suddenly gentle hands fold the earpieces and settle them and the beaded lanyard that dangles from them on the bedside table before removing my tie with equal affection. Fear sings through my veins like champagne bubbles as those deft fingertips trace the edges of my mouth, coming away stained scarlet by blood and lipstick, and I watch as he dips first one, then the second between shell-colored lips, his smile hungry and devilish as he turns those hands toward me. "Give me your hands," he murmurs, the softness of his tone making the words no less a command. Shaking, hesitant, I bring them up and place my wrists in his satin-smooth hands, watching the grosgrain of my tie twine around them with dread and longing pitched to a fever heat. That buff and red tie circles the post of his headboard and I find myself stretched prone and vulnerable beneath him, my back arching as those elegant hands spin the iridescent buttons of my vest and shirt free, exposing mother of pearl skin before painting my flesh in crimson lines, black nails coaxing brilliant red to the surface before spilling it over my body, his own shirt and vest falling to the floor before he presses his skin to mine, the color painting all that white with red.

My hands twist in their bindings as that dark tongue darts out to trace the edge of a pale pink nipple, and I surge against him, vision streaming in orange and red as tears drift down from black lashes, my eyes too full to see anything but the light of the moon as the last of my clothes and my dignity are swept from me, white body laid bare against black sheets under the crimson gaze of my captor. Need and rage cut through me like a white-hot knife, and I bite back a scream, arching my back into the tattooed hand of the demon atop me, only to be forced back against dark, rough wool before another well-placed slap paints the curve of my rear in streaks of pink and teeth and tongue coax purple and blue to the surface of my throat, tearing mewling cries from my throat that hurt to release, starbursts behind my eyes flooding the tears I shed with brilliant blue-white light as nails the color of pitch parted rose-colored flesh to delve deep into the red, turning my world to blinding white again.

I lurch up as Sebastian frees my hands, crimson nails cutting crimson lines down that smooth, pale back as he delves deeper into the carmine confines of my body, my teeth sinking deep into a shoulder to pour burgundy over ivory before the flesh begins to knit under my mouth. Unsatisfied, I hiss against his ear, tangling cherry nails in ebony hair, wrenching his head back to bring our mouths together, bucking against that invading hand in silent demand, smearing plum-colored bruises over his mouth and down his neck.

My vision goes scarlet as he plunges into the velvet confines of my snowy body, brilliant red nails cutting deep into marble flesh as inky hair spills over my shoulder, his pale forehead pressed against my collarbone as he thrusts deep, crimson and black boots wrapping around his waist to carve wine-colored demands into the small of his so-light back. A subtle shift, the slightest twist, and the next thrust throws hoary sparks up behind my eyes, killing my voice and leaving me to slice my pleasure into him, spattering red against the black beneath me, until color and light became all I can comprehend, and a broken, strangled scream escaping blood-red lips spirals me down into blackness.

I wake before the moon sets, slick with carmine and pearl, sticky with it as the air dries fluids of life to this poor death god's skin. A solitary basin of water and a towel sit beneath the window, the moon's face reflected in shimmering ripples as sole testament of the night's events. I am alone, nude, and pale in the moonlight, my flesh already whole again under runnels of blood and semen, searching for my clothes before my benefactor, my tormentor, my lover, returns to his quarters. With silver-edged water I bathe the crimson from my skin, admiring the emergence of pure white from its cherry prison. I dress, pull black and white and brown over petal-pink skin and finally my beloved red, coat falling against my back and the plum bruises that linger from those ebony nails. The sun will be up soon, and I have obligations. Smiling to myself at the crimson reflection in the washbasin, I step out into pitch-black night, until the red is swallowed, and there is only darkness and coming light.


End file.
